His cock spears deeply inside of me as I cry out and arch my back, my hands grasping at either side of me, only to grab fistfuls of sifting sand. I close my eyes and feel my whole body tense up. The coarseness of the sand brushing against my back is just ever so slightly painful, adding a sharp edge to the pleasurable sensations between my legs.

Bruno pauses for a moment, letting his massive length and girth fill me, the head of his shaft pressed squarely against that lovely, forbidden spot. I open my eyes again, slowly, to blink up at Bruno with anticipation. He’s looking down at me with an almost peaceful smile, but there’s that fiery spark in his green eyes that tells me I’m in for the ride of my life.

I can’t believe that the seed that was planted between us so long ago still blooms so strongly. The trust, the love, the lust I have for him… He makes me feel like a love-struck teenager all over again. He’s awakened things in me that I didn’t even know were there.

And somehow, his presence in my life… it’s soothed those old pains instead of inflaming them. When he first came back in my life, the memories I’d repressed came rushing back, and I had to face the demons in my past. The darkness that was lurking in the corner of my psyche.

But when I’m with him… I feel such love. Such trust. I knew he’d never hurt me, not even by accident, as that cool blade had run up and down my body. So instead of frightening me, it simply thrilled me, and made me feel so… alive.

He runs his hands down my body, from my neck all the way down to squeeze my thighs, prying them open wider as he gradually slides his cock back out of me. I want to wrap my legs around him tightly, keep him inside me as much as possible. It’s like an instinctive, almost animalistic need. To keep him. To hold him here. As though if I were to let him go, he might disappear into the fog rolling down across the beach. But I remember his words the other night at the bar: I’m not going anywhere.

Without warning, Bruno suddenly slams into me, his cock hammering into my pussy. I let out a shriek of surprise and pleasure, and Bruno claps a hand over my mouth as he begins to thrust harder and faster. A thrill runs through my body at the newness of this; I’ve never had anybody cover my mouth during sex before. After what I went through as a teenager, with anybody else I might be scared. But I trust Bruno completely, without question. I know he would never, ever hurt me. And the joy of feeling so safe coupled with the hint of danger makes everything that much sexier.

“Shh,” he whispers, passing his thumb delicately over my lips. “Someone might hear you.”

“I’m sorry,” I gasp, feeling my body tingle with ecstasy as he pumps into me again and again. “I’m trying to be quiet but— oh fuck— it feels so good.”

I can barely get the words out, as wave after wave of pleasure rushes over me. Bruno gives me a devilish grin and leans down to kiss me just as I open my mouth to let out another involuntary cry. He slips a hand down between my legs, his fingers finding my clit easily. I inhale sharply as he works my clit while his cock slams into me incessantly. His breath is hot on my neck, teasing me, until he finally kisses the ticklish skin there and starts to nip and suck. I’m overwhelmed with the competing sensations all over my body, my eyes rolling back and closing. I lift my hips again and again to meet his thrusts, moaning words without meaning.

“So good for me, baby,” he purrs, the words dancing tantalizingly across my neck. I tremble with anticipation of looking in the mirror later to see the mark he’s leaving there.

It might be juvenile, but I have always loved seeing those pink and purple love bites on my skin, a reminder of intense pleasure that lasts for days. It’s a symbol, a trademark, telling the world that I belong to someone. And the thought of belonging to someone like Bruno… well, it doesn’t get any better than that.

“You’re mine,” he growls, almost as though he can read my thoughts. I groan, dragging my hands down his back and wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him in close to me. I need to be closer, always closer to him. I can never get enough.

“I love it when you say that,” I murmur. I can feel my pussy clenching around him, preparing for an inevitable climax. “I am yours. I belong to you. I always have.”

“Gonna make sure everybody knows it. I’m going to claim you, mia passerotta. You’re mine.”

And with that, he lunges forward to suck a biting kiss into the flesh just above my collarbone and I yelp as my body trembles through an orgasm. I’m whimpering now, nearly incoherent with the overwhelming symphony of sensations.

“Good girl, very good,” Bruno whispers, stroking the hair back from my face and planting a soft kiss on my lips. “I want you to ride me, sweetheart.”

With one swift, fluid movement, he grabs hold of me and spins around so that his back is on the sand and I’m straddling him. I’m still swaying in the throes of pleasure, but I start working my hips, leaning forward to let my clit rub against him as I ride his cock. Bruno reaches up to caress my breasts, rolling my nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, sending shockwaves of pleasure down to my core. I start to lose control, bouncing up and down on his cock with abandon, needing to feel him slam deep inside of me even though it almost hurts. I’m greedy for it now, all coyness and shyness completely faded away by my desire.

“Oh my god,” I groan, leaning backward and arching my back as I ride him. Bruno pulls up to a sitting position, tugging my legs around him so that we’re straddling each other now, facing each other. He gently strokes my face before aggressively taking a fistful of my hair and holding me in place. I never thought I would love being manhandled like this, but everything Bruno does is delicious. Perfect. With him, I can completely let go of my insecurities and anxieties and just be. At any moment, someone could come walking down the beach and find us here in the most vulnerable position. We could be discovered. A cop could show up. We could get in trouble for this.

But I don’t care. It’s worth the risk. Bruno is worth every risk.

Even though I’m technically on top, Bruno seizes control, thrusting into me while he holds me in place with both of his powerful hands firm on my hips. My second orgasm shatters over me and I start to scream, but Bruno lets go of my hip to cover my mouth with his hand again.

“Such a good girl for me. I love feeling you come all over my cock, Serena. I want to make you feel so good,” he snarls, never relenting in his fast, hard rhythm. I’m losing myself to the shivers of intense pleasure, the world melting away around me. All that matters is this: Bruno and me. Together.

He picks up the pace while one of his hands slides around to cup my ass, giving it a hard slap as I bounce on his cock. “Oh, fuck,” I moan. “Do that again. Please.”

He spanks me harder, his other hand sliding down from my mouth to my throat, applying gentle, careful pressure. It’s just enough to make me feel that edge of thrilling danger again, but never enough to scare or hurt me. He knows exactly what to do without even asking. He knows me.

“I knew you were a dirty girl underneath that sweet smile,” he whispers, his breath warm against the shell of my ear. I shiver and lean into him as he gives my ass another hard slap. He’s thrusting into me harder and harder, and I know I’m going to be aching later, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters except for this. I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

“You make me dirty,” I respond breathlessly. “You make me feel like I’ve never felt before.”

“And I’m going to keep you on your toes forever, mia passerotta. My sweet sparrow. I want to show you everything. Give you everything,” he answers, giving my throat a momentary squeeze. The sensation fills me with adrenaline and spurs me to ride his cock faster, rolling my hips.

“I want you to come, Bruno. Please,” I beg, wrapping my arms around him.

“Anything for you, baby,” he whispers.

And with that, he lets out a growl of pleasure, pumping his hot, sweet seed deep inside of me while I continue to bounce up and down on his cock, milking every last drop from him. He groans and leans in to kiss me hard, his tongue pushing into my mouth while my pussy fills with his cream. He thrusts a few more times and then stops, his hands roving down my back and up to my face, cupping my cheeks as we kiss. There’s a passion, a desperation in his kisses, as though he’s just as afraid of losing me as I am of losing him. We cling to each other this way for what has to be several minutes, just soaking up the glow of being together, the perfection of the moment.

Finally, we both start laughing softly, resting our foreheads against one another’s while the ocean waves crash behind us in the fading light. “Now, time to take you home,” Bruno says.

My heart sinks for a moment until he adds, “I’m gonna cook you dinner. I think we’ve both earned that, don’t you?”

I nod vigorously, overjoyed to spend more time with him. I never want to be out of his sight. I would follow him anywhere, and that thought doesn’t scare me at all. Being vulnerable with Bruno doesn’t feel scary or forced—it feels real.

We gingerly get dressed, trying and probably failing to get all the sand off of our bodies and clothing as we make our way back to the car. On the drive home, we listen to a radio station playing old Sinatra and Elvis songs, the windows rolled down to let the evening air blow through our hair. Bruno reaches across the console to take my hand, and I feel my heart swell. This is everything I’ve ever wanted. I never thought I could find this kind of bliss.

When we get to his apartment building and step out of the elevator onto his floor, there’s a fluffy, fat cat meowing at us just as the doors open. Bruno chuckles, shifting the groceries from the market to one arm and bending down to pick the cat up with his other arm, to my surprise. “Ciao, Grasso,” he says, stroking the cat’s head as it closes its yellow eyes and purrs.

“Whose cat is that?” I ask bemusedly.

“My neighbor, Mrs. Rodriguez— he’s always sneaking out on her. Little bastard,” he says, cooing fondly at the cat as he carries it toward the door next to his and knocks.

There’s a pause, and then the tell-tale shuffle of slippered feet on carpet. The door rattles open to reveal a tiny, stooped older woman with snowy-white hair and big brown eyes. Her lipstick is slightly smudged, as though she’d wiped her mouth after forgetting she was wearing it. She’s wearing a bathrobe over her floral-patterned pajamas, and when she realizes who’s at the door, her wrinkled face splits into a genuine smile.

“Oh! Bruno, you found Grasso!” she exclaims, reaching out to take the massive cat into her arms. It purrs happily, curling its tail around its body. “Pobrecito, he just gets so bored cooped up in here with me sometimes, he wants to go on an adventure. But when he gets out there, he’s afraid. Thank you for bringing him back. I was just about to watch Jeopardy and go to bed without him!”

“No problem, Mrs. Rodriguez,” Bruno says, smiling. “I’ve brought you some groceries, too.”

The woman’s eyes light up. “Oh gracias, mi querido. You are too good to me.”

“Just looking out for my favorite neighbor,” Bruno replies, handing her one of the bags. I can feel my heart swelling with pride and warmth. Bruno puts an arm around me. “By the way, this is Serena. She’s my—”

“Tu novia! Que linda! Much gusto,” Mrs. Rodriguez gushes, pushing through the doorway to give me a hug, the cat still curled up in the crook of her arm.

“Oh, nice to meet you, too!” I reply, hugging her back. I give Bruno a look over her shoulder and he grins, shrugging.

“I always tell Mister Bruno, I say to him, ‘Mister Bruno! You need a woman to look after you! A handsome young man like you should not be spending so much time alone!’” she says, holding up one finger with mock sternness. “I am so happy for you, Mister Bruno! You be sweet to Serena. I like her. And so does Grasso.”

“I promise I’ll be sweet,” Bruno says, nodding dutifully. He gives me a wink when she’s not looking. Mrs. Rodriguez gives each of us a peck on the cheek, with Bruno having to bend nearly perpendicular for her to reach, then she wishes us goodnight and retreats back into her apartment, still cooing to the cat.

Bruno and I exchange expressions of amusement and then he takes me by the hand and leads me into his apartment. Once the door is shut, I burst out laughing.

“That was the cutest thing that’s ever happened to me,” I say genuinely. Bruno chuckles and heads into the kitchen.

“She’s a sweetheart. A little batty and forgetful sometimes, but she’s a good neighbor. She bakes me a cake every April,” Bruno answers. I follow him into the kitchen, watching him take out ingredients for what looks to be a very impressive dinner.

“April? Why?” I ask, confused.

He shrugs and takes out a knife and cutting board to start chopping onions and tomatoes. “She thinks my birthday is in April. It’s in September, but I don’t have the heart to keep reminding her, so I just let it go.”

“Aww,” I reply, smiling. “You know, you’ve got to be one of the most surprising people I’ve ever met, Bruno. Every time I think I have you all figured out, you go the other way entirely.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks, glancing sidelong at me as I lean against the counter.

I grin and shake my head, walking over to kiss him on the cheek. “No. It’s the best thing.”

The rest of the evening I spend looking through his apartment, finally taking the time to look at the minimalist decor and little quirks that speak to his character and personality. He lives simply, without frills or opulence, but he lives well. Cleanly. I can see his appreciation for the nicer things, but he doesn’t go over the top. There’s a refurbished vintage record player in the corner of the living room, a set of dumbbells tucked into an alcove, a colorful blanket folded over the back of the couch.

I ask him about the blanket and he explains that it’s a traditional pattern from the area of Italy he hails from. I run my fingers over it lovingly, as though I can get a glimpse of that version of Bruno just from touching the vibrant threads. I want to know everything about him, but I know it’s better to let him show me slowly, at his own pace. After all, I don’t plan on ever losing him again, so we have all the time in the world to learn all those little things about each other. Sure enough, he explains that the blanket is one of the few things he was able to bring with him when he first came to the States to work as a carpenter under his uncle’s tutelage. He’s kept it all these years as a memento of home, reminding him where he comes from and who he is.

Dinner is, of course, another surprise. It’s course after course of delicious, authentic Italian food. At first he tells me to just relax and let him do all the work, but I sidle up next to him in the kitchen and ask how I can help. As he goes along, he teaches me how to prepare everything, how to plate it.

“It’s funny, my family is Italian but I never learned to cook,” I tell him, slightly embarrassed. “When I was growing up, we always had a chef who came to the house to prepare most of our meals. Mom knew how to cook, but my dad didn’t want her to have to lift a finger. She was spoiled, you know? And he wanted to keep spoiling her as much as he could. And then after my dad died...well, I just didn’t get the chance to learn. We’ve had a lot of takeout over the years. Mom cooks sometimes, but I think it makes her kind of sad. A lot has had to change since Dad died, and I try to make it as easy on her as I can.”

“You’re a good daughter,” Bruno says, putting an arm around me and kissing the top of my head. “I know your father would be proud of you. Anybody would.”

After an hour or so of working side-by-side in the kitchen, Bruno shoos me away to the table so he can serve me. It’s a parade of ridiculously rich, amazing food. Wine, prosciutto, fresh mozzarella, perfectly cooked pasta, massive shrimp cooked in a spicy red sauce, a tray of expertly cut and arranged fruit. By the second course I’m already stuffed, but I keep eating, unable to resist anything Bruno brings to the table.

Over dinner, we talk about the old days, reminiscing about how young and stupid we used to be before the world knocked us off our feet.

We don’t talk about that horrible thing that happened, and I’m more than okay with that. I don’t want to think about it. Everything is so good right now, and I want it to stay this way as long as possible. I’m happy, truly happy, for the first time in a long, long while.

After dinner, we take our time cleaning up all the dishes together, just chatting and listening to the music playing from the record player. As I’m putting the wine bottle back into the rack, I notice a bottle of liquor in his cabinet that looks interesting. “Is that Campari?” I ask, pointing it out.

Bruno walks over and takes it out, along with a bottle of Prosecco. “Ah, good eye. Here, let me make you our drink.”

It’s even better with the prosecco than the soda water, and immediately I feel lighter and happier than ever. “I feel like I should pinch myself,” I laugh.

“I can assure you that the drink in your hand is real,” Bruno says coyly.

“I know that,” I say, leaning into him and resting my cheek on his chest. “I just can’t believe that you’re real. That any of this is happening. It’s too good to be true.”

Bruno tips my chin upward with his finger. He kisses me softly. “It’s all real. I promise.”

Finally, we both finish our drinks and sleepily make our way to his bed, where we curl up in each other’s arms. I feel safe and wanted, like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be. Like I’ve been waiting my whole life for a moment this perfect. I’ve been dreaming about this, and now it’s here.

And it’s happening again—I’m falling for him. I’ve fallen for him.

For better or for worse, there’s no denying it: I’ve fallen in love with a mafioso. Just like my mother. I’m the disgraced mafia princess, following in my mother’s footsteps.

Yet a pit in my stomach won’t go away, it knows something has to go wrong. Something painfully soon.